“Someone walked out,” Ranger said.
“Yeah, but the question is, who? Did they carry him out? Just walk through the blood, throw him in a truck and drive off?” Bo stood in the doorway, his large frame equal to Ranger’s, filling up the door.
“Could have been they left Pedro for dead, but he managed to get out. Or it could be one of the gang members.” Fucking shit day. No way Pedro survived this attack. Every instinct in Ranger told him the man was dead, it was just a matter of finding the body. His death would tear Amy apart. And what would happen to Arturo? He had no idea what the deportation laws were or if they even applied, but he did know without a doubt Amy would fight tooth and nail for the boy, and he'd be right there beside her.
The steel reflection in Bo’s grey eyes mirrored Ranger’s. There was minimal likelihood of a poor immigrant farmer getting the jump on a trained bloodthirsty murderer. “When forensics’ gets here we’ll run samples, check the DNA.”
Ranger had already spent more time than he had to spare. He had to get to headquarters, report and gear up. “I need you to set a man on Evie’s house. Keep watch on the girls until we complete the mission.” There was no doubt the Lobellos would come for Arturo. No one left the gang. Especially a witness to their crimes.
“Already on it.” Bo Lawson was an ex-Marine, been in multiple deployments and done some serious combat time, but unlike Ranger, he’d gotten out. Elected to move to Mercy and run for sheriff. In part, Ranger was glad. The man was a badass not many would fuck with and he didn’t take shit from anyone. The bad part was he didn’t back down from Ranger or TF-S either. “I’ve got my K-9 unit coming to track in the woods out back and Haskell is headed to Evie’s.”
“You sent freaking Haskell?” The old man fancied himself as a John Wayne, but had to be well into his seventies. “You think he can protect them?”
Bo stared him down, muscles bunching underneath his uniform. “I’m not funded by the federal government. I have to work with what I have.” His voice was harsh, daring Ranger to counter him. “So if you want a damn guard on your women, he’s all I’ve got. My other option is a trainee fresh out of the police academy, would you rather I send him?”
Ranger clamped his teeth together, barely holding back a retort. If he had one extra man to spare he would, but all of TF-S was needed for tonight’s op. “Shit.”
“Haskell it is. When I finish up here, I’ll head over there myself, but that’s the best I can offer.”
Ranger wanted to punch something. Hard. Like the sheriff’s jaw, but he held tight. The man was an ass, but he knew what he was doing. If anything happened to Amy...No. Nothing would happen to her because he was going to kill the fucking leaders of the Mexican gang. He would take every single one of them down if that's what it took. And then they would never have to worry about the Lobellos again.
And maybe then, when people stopped trying to kill him and kidnap her, they would have a chance at starting a normal life together.
“Fine. But if anything happens to her or Evie on your watch I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Ranger harnessed the anger, the frustration. He would need it.
“If I let something happen to them, I’ll put the bullet there myself.” Rumor had it that Bo had come close to suicide once before. A lone wolf terrorist had discovered his identity, found Bo’s wife and child, and killed them. Bo had been overseas on a mission at the time and unable to protect his family.
Ranger felt a small pang of guilt for him. Now that he had Amy and Chloe, now that he had someone to come home to, he couldn’t imagine his life without them.
He needed to make sure he removed all threats from them. And he would start tonight. Captain Gray had called in ATF and ICE to coordinate the takedown. But stage one of the attack was all still TF-Scorpion. And Ranger would be the first one through that door. He had a bullet saved especially for Santos.
* * *
Amy tucked the sheet around Arturo’s shoulders, the full size bed making him appear even smaller. More vulnerable. The past hour of crying without a break had worn them both out. An occasional hiccup still shook him every few seconds, but sleep had claimed him for the night, and she prayed he would be safe in the cocoon of sweet dreams. Innocent dreams. Dreams a young boy should have.
Not the nightmare of losing his father.
Amy bent forward, guilt gripping her stomach and pulling her down. All this time she’d only thought of herself and her misery, when Arturo had been suffering. Hurting.
And she hadn’t even realized he was missing.
How could she be so selfish? Why hadn’t she gone to check on them after her break-in?
Stupid selfish girl. Of course the Lobellos would go after Pedro. Wasn’t he the reason they’d showed up in the first place? From what Pedro said, they’d been the ones to transport him and Arturo from Mexico. Now they wanted more. Amy and Chloe were just collateral damage to their destruction. She’d taken in the father and son. She’d given them a home. A job. And then she’d abandoned them at the first sign of trouble.
Her own tears slipped free and she dropped her head to her hands, resting her elbows on her knees, needing the support to stay sitting upright and not curl into a ball on the floor. She caught the first sob, forcing herself to be quiet and not wake Arturo. The second sob hit, then the third. Wave after relentless wave crashed over her, the emotions forcing themselves from her body.
Why was she being punished?
She deserved it. Her conscious whispered the ugly truth. What kind of wife sent her husband off to war with a fight? Even if he was cheating, she hadn’t known at the time. So what did that make her? Selfish.
Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. She should have kept up the house and yard without complaint. She should have done so many things. And now what did she have? A post-mortem broken marriage. A daughter without a father. And possibly Arturo, who she hadn’t even thought about in the last twenty-four hours.
“What are you doing? Come here.” Evie stood before her, arms crossed over her chest. She must have snuck in while Amy was distracted with her abject misery.
Amy shook her head and buried her face in her hands, uncontrollable sobs wracking her frame. She felt Evie pull her from the bed beside Arturo. Was dimly aware of leaving the bedroom and entering the kitchen. Away from the sleeping boy, her emotions ripped free of the frayed rope barely holding them in check.
“Talk to me.” Evie pulled Amy into a hug.
“I...I... I didn’t even...think about him.” She grabbed onto her friend and held tight, needing her support.
“Who?”
“Arturo. Pedro. I didn’t even check. What kind of a person am I?”
“Um, the kind who’d barely saved herself and her baby from an attack? Or the kind who’d found out her dead husband was a cheating dirt bag. Take your pick. You’re human. No one expects you to carry the burden for everyone.” Evie set Amy from her, pushing her down into a chair at the table and grabbed a tissue from the counter.
Amy took it, wiped her face, blew her nose and started crying again. Her ability to hold it all in, her control, had disappeared. “No. I should have known, I should have checked on him.”
Amy watched Evie squat in front of her through a fog of tears. “I’m calling bullshit.”
The coarse words gave Amy pause. “What?”
“I said bullshit. You were trying to survive and protect your baby. It’s not your job to protect everyone in this town.” Evie held her gaze, her blue eyes determined.
“I picked a huge fight with Shane right before he was deployed. And then he died. What kind of wife does that?” She ended her question with a loud cry and grabbed another Kleenex. The water works had turned to full blast.
“A fight about what?” Evie countered.
“I don’t know. About the house, the yard. I wanted him to help out more.” I was a lousy wife.
“So you asked your husband to help out around the house and he got pissed?”
“But he w
orked so much. He was tired. He needed to rest when he was home.” Evie fought, trying to make her understand. She knew how wrong she’d been.
“Bullshit.” Evie’s blue eyes flashed bright with anger. “That is bullshit, Amy Carter. That man was home plenty and he didn’t do crap to help you around the house. If I recall correctly you were working, too. And I’m pretty damn sure I’m right, since you were working in my bar. I was the one cutting you the paycheck.”
True. “But I didn’t risk my life serving drinks at the Wharf.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. Shane signed up for that job. Just like Hunter. Just like Ranger. And I’ll tell you something-Hunter James helps me fold laundry, clean the kitchen and still does all the yard work himself.”
Amy sniffed her tears back and searched for another excuse, another reason to hold on to the blame. She came up empty. If Hunter did it without complaint, why couldn’t Shane have?
“You’re forgetting one giant ass thing, too,” Evie said.
Amy sat up straight, stared down at her friend. “What?”
“That dirt bag was out screwing a teenage girl while you were cleaning the house and mowing the yard and working your ass off. So I’m sorry, but this self-blame line of crap doesn’t hold water. Have you really been thinking this about yourself?”
Amy bit her lip and thought hard. Evie’s words made too much sense. If Hunter did that, voluntarily, what excuse did she have? Her guilt had dug in deep and taken root.
Shane had been sent on deployments, fairly often, gone for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes a few months. But he’d been home just as much. He’d sit on the couch and watch T.V. Drink beer. And go out, without her.
When she’d griped, he’d always gotten so angry. “Do you know I risk my life every time I go out? Do you have any idea what kind of stress that puts on me? You think I should come home and not relax, but work my ass off for this shitty little farm? The other wives don’t bitch and nag like this. They have supper waiting. A clean house. And a fucking smile on their face. But me-I get a nag who does nothing but whine about doing her job.”
“No. I swear, that’s not it. I just wanted you to mow the yard, bush hog the pasture. It’s so much I can’t keep up.”
“Can’t or won’t? I know how much you’re on your phone. Probably laid up in that bed, texting and talking to God knows who. Maybe you’re trying to get me to do all the work so you can talk to your boyfriend online.”
Amy remembered the argument like it was yesterday. He had accused her of cheating.
Her face flushed and she crushed the tissue in her hand. “You’re right. The fight. He’d accused me of cheating.”
Evie stood abruptly and marched over to the kitchen cabinet. Her polished hardwood floors gleaming, the new granite counter tops and modern appliances lending chic appeal to the rustic log home. She returned, wine glasses in hand.
“You already put Chloe to bed?” Amy asked and accepted the glass.
“She went down in under a minute. We’ve all had a long day. I put the pac-and-play in the spare bedroom with you. Now drink.” Evie tipped Amy’s glass up and she took a sip. The cool white wine was straight up muscadine heaven down her throat.
“Thank you for doing that for me. For taking care of her.”
“No thanks needed. I fully expect you to babysit when I have kids - one day. Not booking anytime soon, but in the future.” Evie winked and downed half her glass. “And freaking hell, after a day like today, I don’t think I want anything more than me and my man. Lord, you attract drama like flies on a carcass.”
Amy cringed, but took another sip of wine. “Wow. Thanks.”
Evie smiled and sat back in her chair. “What are friends for?”
Friends. Men. Husbands. She remembered then her anger and sat straight up, slamming her wine glass on the wood table. “He accused me of cheating. Can you believe that? After what he did?”
“Asshole. He was making you feel guilty so you wouldn’t notice his own guilt. And over a kid! Granted, she wasn’t really a kid, but barely nineteen is still a freaking kid.”
A shudder of disgust moved through Amy. What kind of man targeted someone like that? And Amy had been sleeping with him too, albeit, not the best sex, but they’d still been husband and wife. Then another thought, one more horrifying than the rest, popped in her head. “Could he have given me an STD?”
Her mind quickly ran through all the diseases she remembered from sex-ed and which ones were communicable through child birth. She might have given Chloe some lifelong disease. Amy slapped a hand over her mouth, the thought so insane she couldn’t process.
“No way. First off, do you remember how many tests and blood work they did while you were pregnant? I promise, you would know if you had anything. I’ve never seen a doctor take so much blood.” Evie shuddered, her face going pale.
At that point, Shane had been on deployment and refusing to communicate with her, then he’d gone MIA, missing in action. And poor Evie had stuck by her, despite her fear of all things medical-especially needles. Right now her friend turned from pale white to pale green, and that was from only talking about shots.
“You know, I didn’t even feel the shots,” Amy offered, trying to help Evie past her unreasonable fear.
“Sure, okay. Anyway, secondly,” Evie paused and gulped down her entire glass. Geez, this must be big. “Secondly, and don’t freak out when I tell you this, I think Hayden was a virgin.”
Amy shot to her feet, some unknown mix of anger and disgust and fury driving her. “What!?”
“Sit down. I told you not to freak. I know she acts tough, but I’ve watched her around guys. She flirts, but she never leaves with them. Never lets them touch her too much. And as much as she acts like the wild child, Hank says she comes home every night.”
Amy choked, “You’re telling me my cheating husband deflowered a teenager?” Bile shot up her throat, hot and burning, clawing and fighting to get out. How could he? How could he sleep with his wife and pursue Hayden at the same time? Revulsion crawled across her skin and she wanted more than anything to run to the shower and scrub her skin raw.
Evie seemed to mirror Amy’s disgust, her skin shading even greener. Suddenly, Evie slapped a hand over her mouth and ran to the sink and vomited.
“Holy crap. I’ll get a wet wash cloth.” Amy went to her friend, turned the faucet to the side and wet a washcloth. She pulled Evie’s hair back from her face and blotted her neck until she stopped puking.
When Evie could stand up, Amy passed her the washcloth and made her a glass of water. Evie accepted it and took a small sip, then wiped her mouth. “Thanks. I don’t know what happened. Must have been the wine mixed with the bullshit.”
“I hope so. Our luck, it’s a stomach virus and we’ll all be down.”
Evie shook her head. “Nope. No way. You’re streak of bad shit is done. I’ve been feeling queasy all day. Probably the sausage I had for breakfast. It was a couple days past expiration.”
Amy shook her head. “You need to clean out your refrigerator. That’s gross.”
“Ya’ll don’t know the meaning of gross.”
The deep crackly voice made Amy jump and spin around. C.W. Videl stood right behind her, his normal uniform of camouflage pants and black shirt in place, only now he had a huge rifle propped up under his arm like a crutch.
“What are you doing here?” Evie went to her grandpa and gave him a hug. Amy offered a little wave, still trying to get her heart rhythm down from its rabbit race.
“Hunter called earlier, said he wanted me to stay while he was away. Something ‘bout some damn Mexicans.” C.W. leaned the rifle against the wall. “Evie girl, make me some sweet tea will ya?” C.W. pulled out a chair across from Amy. Evie went into the kitchen and poured some tea. He took a sip, leaned back in the chair, and stroked his long grey beard. “Ya’ll wanna fill me in?”
Evie sat, met Amy’s gaze, then quickly filled C.W. in about Mavis and the Lobellos. The old man’s dark eye
s narrowed beneath his busy grey brows and small reading glasses. “Good thing I’m here then. Hated to miss my date, but Trudy understood. Family first.”
“Oh no, C.W., go on and see Mrs. Trudy. I don’t want to interfere with your plans,” Amy said.
C.W. and Mrs. Trudy Van Meter were about as likely a couple as a grizzly bear and a house cat. Ever since Vietnam, C.W. had been different - as in borderline crazy. Mrs. Trudy, on the other hand, was head of the First United Methodist church, wore pressed dress outfits daily and never missed a Sunday in church.
“Ain’t no question. You’re family too. I’m stayin’.” C.W. said.
Amy bit back her argument knowing she wouldn’t win this fight and said, “Thank you.”
“Besides, I seen Deputy Haskell sitting out front. That man is blind as a bat.” C.W. pulled a bag of chewing tobacco out of his front shirt pocket and put a wad in his lower lip. “So, I’m here til’ Hunter gets back. Now - you’re telling me that someone broke into your house and then into that Mexican’s house you got workin’ for ya? And you all don’t know if he’s dead, but you got his boy in there?” C.W. indicated the spare bedroom down the hall behind him.
Evie sighed and leaned forward, still a little pale. “That’s right. And the guys are keeping their whereabouts all hush but I know they’re going after the gang.”
Amy resisted the urge to tell her friend to go lie down and get some sleep. Dark shadows formed under her eyes, making her look like a wrung out washcloth.
“What about the boy? If his pa is dead, you gonna ship him back to Mexico?” C.W. asked.
Amy sat up straight, her muscles tense. Send him back? “Hell no. He’s going to stay with me.”
“You let old C.W. know if someone tries to take him. The government thinks it knows what’s best for everyone whether you like it or not. I still got friends all over, they won’t ever find that boy.” His weathered face reflected straight conviction and Amy felt a measure of relief for his support. If someone tried to force Arturo away she would fight, and fight to the bloody end. Already she was thinking of him as her own child, while silently praying Pedro was alive and well.
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 39